Audaciously Ambitious, Sarcastically Sassy, and Eloquently Entertaininghttps://eaharring.wordpress.com
One day at a timeTue, 28 Nov 2017 05:44:06 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngAudaciously Ambitious, Sarcastically Sassy, and Eloquently Entertaininghttps://eaharring.wordpress.com
On Grieving and the holidayshttps://eaharring.wordpress.com/2017/11/28/on-grieving-and-the-holidays/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2017/11/28/on-grieving-and-the-holidays/#respondTue, 28 Nov 2017 05:34:39 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=720]]>I learned how to wrap presents by watching my dad. He would meticulously cut and bend the paper to his will, ensuring sharp, crisp corners and lines; he knew his work would be torn apart in seconds, but he enjoyed the process. Every birthday and Christmas, it was easy to tell which presents he had wrapped, and which my mother had. I used to love watching him, because it always looked so magical when he did it––so easy.

The last seven or so years of his life, my dad’s MS rapidly tore through his body, rendering him unable to walk and use his left arm. By the end of his life, his disease had taken so much of who he was: his movement, his voice, his independence. I can’t remember the last time I got a wrapped present from my dad, which sucks, because I’ll never have one again. That’s the worst part about grieving: thinking up all of the things you’ll never have, never do, with that person anymore. Never dance. Never laugh. Never wish a Merry Christmas.

If you’ve lost someone, you know that the worst time of year when the grief is new (and even when it’s not) is Christmas. I have a love/hate relationship with the holiday. I love the glitz, the glam, the cozy sweaters, the way you can taste snow in the air before it begins to slowly drift down from the sky. But, it’s also a hard time–– a time when you nostalgically think back on Christmases from your youth and wish you could relive them one more time, just so you could say hello or I love you.

This will be my first Christmas without my dad. My third without my grandfather. My fourth without my aunt. My eleventh without my grandmother. Four important people who helped make me who I am today. And, it doesn’t get any easier. Every time I’ve lost someone new, unexpectedly or not, I think “I’ll be more prepared this time. I’ve had to handle my grief over the holidays before––it should be second nature at this point.” It never is. As soon as Thanksgiving rolls around, I know. I prepare.

I don’t know how this holiday will go, or how it will feel. There will be its good moments, and there will be its bad. I’ve compartmentalized up until this point, but all compartmentalization goes out the window when it comes to the holidays––at least for me. My body demands that I feel the emotions, as painful as they may be.

This is all to say: if you know someone who is grieving or who has a hard time around the holidays, be kind to them. Be understanding. Know that they’re trying really, really hard. Give them all your love, and all of your support.

And, if you happen to read this and are grieving yourself, know that I love you, and I’m sorry, and you’re going to get through this––even if it seems like you won’t.

I don’t remember when I first started to believe I couldn’t participate in sports. I know that I refused to run the required mile each semester in middle and high school because I felt I couldn’t. I would try to run, get embarrassed about my body, and walk. I’d convinced myself that my body wasn’t worthy of play. It couldn’t do the things that other bodies did.

However, for an entire year I was on a sports team for my church in sixth grade. Me. The girl who didn’t run. The girl who hated physical activity. I played basketball in the fall and volleyball in the spring. I probably wasn’t great, but I stuck with it the entire year. I went to practices. I tried. I pushed my body in ways I didn’t know I could. And, I enjoyed it. Maybe not all the time, but there was a part of me that wanted to keep playing.

I never did, though. Sometimes, now, I think back and ask myself “Why didn’t you keep playing?” Once I’d reached high school, I had aspirations to try and join the basketball team. I thought about how could it would be to actually participate in something. To join a team. To move and jump and shoot hoops and not give a shit what anyone thought about me.

I never tried out. I joined the theatre and convinced myself that I just wasn’t the sporty type. I barely tried in PE, even though I had a teacher who tried so hard to get me to care. I was so unnecessarily harsh on myself. I believed that because my body looked a certain way, because I felt a certain way, it could never change. I was sixteen, seventeen years old, and I never thought it could change.

I’m currently reading a book called Eat Sweat Play by Anna Kessel, which looks at the relationship women have with sport and with play. Sport is so often seen as a masculine, and the exercise that women are told is acceptable falls under the category of ‘fitspiration.’ Instead of being about the game, about play, it becomes about losing weight. About having that perfect beach bod in just six easy steps! Obviously, this is a flawed system, and Kessel goes into how important it is to teach girls and women how important sport is in our everyday lives. It’s made me reflect on my own relationship with sport, and even though I’m an active individual now, I’ve realized how desperately I desire that play. There’s something different about playing basketball or volleyball, something you don’t get just by hopping on an elliptical or spending two hours in the weight room.

I think of it now as a sort of grounded weightlessness. You’re present, in the moment, paying attention to the game, but you’re also free to act without thinking. If someone’s coming at you, you guard the ball. Shoulders down, elbow back, knee loose and ready to move. It takes your mind off of whatever the day thus far has thrown your way. And, it’s just fun. It’s fun to sweat, breathlessly moving back and forth on the court, without having to worry about those pages you need to write or that book you need to read or how you really need to start grading. And, it forms a sense of companionship with the people you play with.

This is all to say that after ten years of wanting to play basketball and volleyball, I’ve made plans to actually do just that. Because my body deserves to move, and is worthy of everything that sport can give it.

I may always be the girl who finishes last, but at least I’ve have fun on the way.

]]>https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2017/02/15/eat-sweat-play/feed/0eaharring“Dear Future Emily…”https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2017/01/11/dear-future-emily/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2017/01/11/dear-future-emily/#respondWed, 11 Jan 2017 03:09:46 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=675]]>Last night, I grabbed my yellow pocket Moleskine from its tucked away place where I usually keep it. When I first got it, I deemed the notebook my “travel journal” and only grabbed it when I was travelling. The notebook has been camping with me, and has flown with me to California, and Texas, and back to Wisconsin. It’s packed with memories that I revisit each time I bring it out again. Along with my “resolutions” or goals for 2017, I want to start documenting the joy in my life. The gratitude that I feel–maybe not daily, but often. What better journal to write my gratitude in than the journal that’s been with me traveling? The one that just feels special to me.

While getting ready to write my first entry, I read the last one that I’d made. I was on a flight back to Wisconsin, and decided to write an entry for future me, knowing full well I probably wouldn’t see it for at least a year (and I was right–good job, past Emily). And, goddamn if the letter to myself from myself wasn’t exactly what I needed to hear starting off this new year.

So, for 2017, in order to foster more love and more light in my life, I’m going to take advice from myself:

“Forgive yourself. What you’ve done as a younger you doesn’t define you, and it doesn’t mean you can’t change. You can. It’s easy. You’ve changed your life so many times in the past, and it’s always worked out. I hope you’re a step closer to being the you that you might want to be. I think you’re getting there, but right now, we’ve still got some growing to do.

I hope you know how proud I am of you.”

2016 was a year. We learned a lot. We grew a lot. We made mistakes. We loved so very, very much. So, here’s to you, 2017. Here’s to allowing myself to feel what I feel, to do what I love, to start new creative projects and actually see them through.

Let’s make it a good year.

]]>https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2017/01/11/dear-future-emily/feed/0eaharringOn Representationhttps://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/09/22/on-representation/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/09/22/on-representation/#respondThu, 22 Sep 2016 00:34:20 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=605]]>Disclaimer: I knew going into This Is Us that it would probably be too sentimental for my tastes. I wasn’t wrong, but my own personal bias against emotional manipulation in the media probs led me to hating it more than I might have without that bias. Maybe. Probably not, but there’s a chance, right?

&&&

So, NBC’s This Is Us premiered last night, and the internet lost its shit. As a fat girl, I knew I had to check it out to see how they portrayed the fat character. I was weary about it for multiple reasons, many of which derive directly from shitty representations of fat women in the media. I saw a variety of folks lauding the show for having a fat character, which I get. It’s rare, and when it happens, it’s exciting. Except, we all know that women don’t really get the complexity they deserve from a lot of television shows or movies; make the woman a fat woman, and she’s basically going to end up as one of four caricatures:

The fat funny friend–a.k.a: the Melissa McCarthy.

The pitiful woman we sentimentalize: awwww, it’s just so sad. However did she get so fat?

The inspirational woman: wow, she’s certainly working hard to lose all that weight, what an inspiration.

The woman who is defined by her body, and basically lives in shame and hatred of herself.

Not to mention any of the truly atrocious films or shows that make the villainous, greedy women also fat, ugly, and undeserving of any human kindness. But, let’s not talk about those, shall we?

When the show first introduces Kate–the fat character–she’s staring at her fridge, the contents of which have been labelled with all of the respective calories/ things she ought not to eat. Awesome. Then we journey along with her to weight loss support group, where she meets Toby–a fellow funny fattie. Right away, we know he’s going to be the love interest, which is fine–except where’s my rom-com where Melissa McCarthy falls in love with Idris Elba? Because it’s okay for overweight men to land total hotties in our sitcoms, but the thought of hot dude banging a fat chick is somehow absurd? Please. The dialogue between them is cheesy at best, and more than a little cringe-worthy. See, example A:

Toby: I probably won’t lose the weight. (pause)
Kate: I can’t fall for a fat guy right now.
Toby: Well, then, I guess I’ll have to lose the weight.

Emmy worthy writing.

I have a problem with Kate, though, writing aside. Not because of the actor, or because I don’t think the character’s story is valid. I do. But it seems to reinforce so many harmful ways of thinking, like: if I lose the weight, I’ll be happy. I’ll love myself. Somehow everything will be better.

Spoiler alert: you may not be any happier when you lose the weight. When I lost a majority of the weight I did, I wasn’t happy. I was miserable. I was running myself into the ground, convincing myself that I was happy. But, my state of mind was always “here’s how I lose the next pound, and”I should probably cut this food group out next,” and “man that was way too much ice cream–god why am I so fat?” I didn’t let myself eat a chip for three years. I didn’t love myself any more because I was skinnier. I was harder on myself because I wasn’t losing weight fast enough. I still wasn’t skinny enough. I would never be skinny enough.

That isn’t healthy, and it all stems from that first glimmer of hope that if you lose the weight, you’ll be happy. It’ll all be okay, then.

Obviously, my story isn’t the same as everyone else’s. But, that’s the point. There are seven billion people on this planet, and yet the only stories we get to see about fat women are those that have already been told. How many times have we gotten the inspirational Lifetime-esque movie of a fat woman who goes to fat support group and manages to lose a lot of weight and then–finally then–she’s happy. She’s become her true self–whatever the fuck that means. How many times are we going to get force-fed the same story and accept it?

Why does Kate have to hate herself? Why does she have to feel so much shame? Why can’t we have fat woman on tv who love their bodies? Why do we keep playing this story over and over and over again? Fat women are so much more than their bodies, but we rarely get to see that, and it’s tiring.

This isn’t representation. It’s not enough to put a fat body on the screen and call it a day. You want representation? Look at the new Ghostbusters movie, where the woman demolished multiple pizzas, and there wasn’t a single word uttered about calories and fatness. They were woman eating pizza, and that was that. How revolutionary.

Maybe the show will prove me wrong. Maybe Kate will have character outside of her body. Maybe it won’t define her. Maybe it’ll tackle the harder issues, like the mental fortitude it takes to actually change your life in a meaningful way.

I’ll just be patiently awaiting that rom-com.

]]>https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/09/22/on-representation/feed/0eaharringOn Changinghttps://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/05/24/on-changing/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/05/24/on-changing/#respondTue, 24 May 2016 02:38:21 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=532]]>I learned to swim when I was around five or six years old, and I hated it. My grandmother had recently purchased a house with a swimming pool, and I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. I would scream and cry for reasons I can’t remember, because eventually something in me switched on and I wouldn’t leave the pool. I’d swim for hours on end, my fingers and toes shriveled from prolonged water exposure. For summers on end, I smelled only of sunscreen and chlorine–both scents utterly permeating through my pores and hair follicles.

Sometime in the first few years of swimming, I fell in love with marine biology. Oceans entranced me, and I would spend hours reading and studying the skeletal structures of whales and dolphins (orca and bottle nose being my favorites). I imagined growing up and transferring this love into a career–a career where I would get to study and swim with the marine animals I’d come to love. Concurrently, I loved (and rewatched multiple times) Free Willy and Andre. Even though I would eventually come to change my career choices, my love of marine life and the hours upon hours I spent studying the oceans shaped me throughout my adolescence into adulthood.

Fast forward to this past January, when I picked up The Once and Future World: Nature As It Was, As It Is, As It Could Be by J.B. Mackinnon. The first of what would be many environmentally driven monographs that I would pick up in the first half of 2016, and the first of those monographs that would break my heart. Because it was the first source that pointed out how we could have fish-less oceans by 2048-2050. The fishing industry has depleted the oceans faster than they can recover, sweeping up vast amounts of fish for consumers and slaughtering whatever other marine animals are caught in the crossfires. It’s a needless extinction, and I couldn’t believe I’d ignored it for so long.

“Nature is not a temple, but a ruin. A beautiful ruin, but a ruin all the same.”
― J.B. MacKinnon, The Once and Future World: Nature As It Was, As It Is, As It Could Be

In April, after four years of being a pescetarian, I made the decision to stop eating fish. Because I refuse to support the fishing industry (and, ultimately, the animal agriculture industry). Because I’m one person on such an old, magnificent planet, and it really pains me to see how much our progress has depleted it. I reflect on my admiration, my love for the oceans and forests, and wonder what it will look like for the next generation. I wonder what legacy we’re leaving behind.

And that decision just snowballed into a decision to go mostly vegan, thanks to Cowspiracy, Forks Over Knives, Mission Blue, and other great resources that I’ve been studying the past couple of months. I’m nowhere as informed as I should be, but I’m getting there. I didn’t know at the start of 2016 that it would be the year I start my journey to a plant-based lifestyle, but here we are. It’s the easiest decision I’ve made. Our planet simply can’t sustain itself if we don’t change anything; if you’re an informed consumer, you know that the global temperature is rising. Ice caps are melting. Animals are dying, going extinct, and nothing will change if we don’t give back to the planet that has given us so much. (And, I don’t really want to eat anything that has made its way to my plate through cruel means.)

“The crisis in the natural world is one of awareness as much as any other cause. As a global majority has moved into cities, a feedback loop is increasingly clear. In the city, we tend not to pay much attention to nature; for most of us, familiarity with corporate logos and celebrity news really is of more practical day-to-day use than a knowledge of local birds and edible wild plants.* With nature out of focus, it becomes easier to overlook its decline. Then, as the richness and abundance of other species fade from land and sea, nature as a whole becomes less interesting—making it even less likely we will pay attention to it.”
― J.B. MacKinnon, The Once and Future World: Nature As It Was, As It Is, As It Could Be

If you’re interested in learning more, I highly recommend the documentaries I listed earlier. You can also check out Dr. Sylvia Earle’s Ted Talk on why we need to protect the oceans. She’s kind of my hero now when it comes to marine life.

Resources that I’ll be checking out over the summer include Silent Spring by Rachel Carson and Feral by George Monbiot. As I become more informed, I’ll write entries on some of the environmentalist and animal activist points that I find most compelling/distressing/etc. If you’re on a similar journey and have resources to recommend, please let me know! I’m an academic, so there’s no such thing as “too many sources.”

Here’s to a new chapter.

]]>https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/05/24/on-changing/feed/0eaharringsave-the-oceanThe World We Live Inhttps://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/03/09/the-world-we-live-in/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/03/09/the-world-we-live-in/#respondWed, 09 Mar 2016 17:47:02 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=455]]>I recently read Ta-Nehisi Coates’s book Between the World and Me. In case you’ve not heard of it (which I can’t imagine, but stranger things have happened), Between the World and Me is a long letter that Coates wrote to and for his son about living with a black body in America. He painstakingly details what it’s like to have a body that’s malleable and fragile under the white body’s desires, depending on their mood or the day. Such a body can be taken away without reprimand: Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Eric Harris, Sandra Bland, Walter Scott, Jonathan Ferrell, Samuel DeBose, Freddie Gray. To live in a black body, he writes, is to constantly live with fear and anxiety. Don’t move too fast. Don’t move your hands. Don’t be caught wearing a hoodie. Don’t own toy guns. Stay calm and polite. You might live, then. You might.

&&&

My head is down, looking at my phone while I type. I have a black maxi dress on with dark red lipstick–noticeable attire when it comes to living in Austin, TX. I stand out. Broad shoulders, confident walk, perhaps I’m asking for this. Maybe it’s none of these things that make me a target. Maybe it’s my tanned skin, my kinky hair–everything about me that screams “Danger, Will Robinson, danger” when it comes to pasty, middle-aged white dudes who can’t tell colors apart except for “doesn’t look like my own.”

Either case, whether it’s my attire or just the fact that I dare take up space as a woman walking down a sidewalk, two police officers decided to make snide remarks as I walked past them to get to a coffee shop Monday evening before my night class began. “Look at this one,” one of them leered. “Walking past us without looking. So cocky.” “Yeah, man,” the other replied, laughing. Because how funny it is to flaunt your uniform. Because how funny it is to make students feel uncomfortable on their own campus. Because how funny it is to make them stop for just a moment and think to themselves, “What happens if I don’t keep moving?”Because, that’s all it takes these days, isn’t it? One “aggressive” movement. One snappy quip.

I kept moving.

Not everyone has that right.

&&&

The most striking thing to me about Coates’s book is the tangible anger that emanates off the pages. The sorrow. The indignation that this still happens–that it ever did in the first place. The overall question of what it means to bring up children, to bring up a son, in such an environment where his body will be judged instantly based solely off the appearance of his skin. A world where he’ll watch the news, and he’ll hear how over and over again white bodies can decide whether or not a black body continues to live, and there’s no consequence for that decision. There are never any consequences.

A recent episode of Black-ish titled “Hope” dealt with this question extremely well, Coates’s book came up a couple of times because the eldest son had recently read it. In a devastating moment, Dre and Bow (the mother and father) come head to head about what it means to live black in America. It’s heartbreaking, and well worth watching, so I’m including it here.

&&&

There’s a medieval title illustration for Song of Solomon that depicts a black woman and
a line of the texts reads, “I am black but comely [beautiful].” Some academics have found that what it used to say, in some manuscripts, was “I am black and comely.” What a difference a word makes.

&&&

I don’t have any eloquent ways to say how much Coates’s book affected me. It’s powerful. It’s tragic. It’s quietly hopeful. As Toni Morrison blurbs, it should be required reading. Everyone should read this book. Everyone, especially white bodies, should have to confront the harsh reality of what it means to live with a black body, because somehow so many of us remain blind or ignorant. Sometimes both.

Maybe, someday, we’ll live in a world where there are consequences for that ignorance.

…

[Disclaimer: Being a part of a movement or a cause when you are, yourself, not a part of the community being attacked, means admitting your privilege and letting them speak. It means fighting with them, not for them.]

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https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/03/09/the-world-we-live-in/feed/0eaharringtumblr_mtj82nmxo61ssmm02o1_1280tumblr_mtj82nmxo61ssmm02o2_1280I Trusthttps://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/02/10/i-trust/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/02/10/i-trust/#respondWed, 10 Feb 2016 05:15:30 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=446]]>I step onto the mat with both gratitude and trepidation. My toes press into its soft cushion as I slowly lower into a seated position. I roll the shoulders, rock the neck back and forth, and begin to breath. Nice, deep, and slow. Soft. The exhale reverberating against my closed throat as the breath leaves my body. I try to empty myself of my anxiety and stress, and I know my body will enjoy the movement, the transitions from one position to the next, but I also wonder if I’ll land my lunge from downward dog, or if I’ll manage to successfully complete all poses. What if Adriene throws a new pose my way that completely freezes me in place?

What if I can’t do it?

I spent years being afraid of my body. It was too large, too clunky, took up way too much space. It felt ugly. I spent years being too afraid to jump, to climb, to run. I felt I couldn’t do anything, because my body wouldn’t allow me to. Pulling myself out of that mindset felt impossible and improbable, but somehow, I did. I gave my body that which it yearned to have: movement. Life. Activity. And I felt wonderful. I watched as I transformed from clunky to graceful. From afraid to ready and willing. Even still, once I’d felt the rush of endorphins from cardio, once I’d felt my arms and legs grow stronger and more capable, I was still convinced that I couldn’t do yoga. I wasn’t strong enough yet, or light enough, or whatever other excuse I gave myself to put off the practice. After years of proving I could do everything I thought I couldn’t, I still convinced myself I wasn’t enough.

Two steps forward, one step back.

I’m not sure what caused me to say “fuck it” to being afraid and start watching some yoga videos last fall. I think I’d just reached a point where I’d grown tired of my own excuses. Fast forward two months, and I’ve cultivated my own home practice. I have a bright turquoise and orange yoga mat that makes me incredibly happy once I step onto it. I have a mentor who teaches me that it’s important to listen to my body, that I need to trust in its strength, and in the capability of the earth to keep me grounded. She reminds me that yoga isn’t about nailing the positions–it’s about enjoying the journey. It’s about growing as both a yogi, but also as a person.

Yoga has taught me to appreciate the body I have more so than any other physical exercise I’ve done. I credit this to the fact that it’s so closely tied to the mental state and the use of emptying yourself of everything that will not service you. It’s about saying, “I trust in my practice and myself. I believe in my journey and myself. The hardest part of yoga is getting to the mat, and here I am.”

Since I’ve started practicing yoga, I’ve noticed my attitude shifting and changing, as well. I’m a self-proclaimed cynic; I enjoy tragedies far more than comedies. And while my love for all that is horrific and gory will never cease, I approach my life with far more positivity than ever before. It’s strange, but not completely unwanted. It’s nice to no longer live in anger. It’s nice to let things go, to separate myself from that which does not bring me joy. I want everything around me to create happiness and light. Most importantly, myself.

I step onto the mat with both gratitude and trepidation. My toes press into its soft cushion as I slowly lower into a seated position. I roll the shoulders, rock the neck back and forth, and begin to breath. Nice, deep, and slow. Soft. I remind myself that, as with everything else, this takes time. I’ve only been doing yoga every day for just over thirty days now. I can’t expect to be perfect at it. I may never be perfect at it. I trust that I will do everything I can do, and it will have been enough.

]]>https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/02/10/i-trust/feed/0eaharringMotivation (And How to Get It)https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/01/12/motivation-and-how-to-get-it/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/01/12/motivation-and-how-to-get-it/#respondTue, 12 Jan 2016 05:36:58 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=407]]>“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.”Vincent Van Gogh

We typically start a new year off with so many grand ideas about how we’ll change everything and become a better person–and those grand ideas last for about a month before life intervenes and it gets harder to find a schedule that works for our busy, busy lives. I’m guilty of it, and I’m sure you’re guilty of it, too. (If you’re not, I highly envy you, and please tell me your magical secret.)

I’m not the best at maintaining motivation, especially when I’m going through low funks, but I’m awfully good at it. I’ve got some stellar willpower, which I’m eternally grateful for, but I’ve also just had a lot of practice. Par example, I used to bite my nails up until about age nineteen, and then I just decided to stop. And I did. I also quit soda cold turkey, and I’ve been on a relatively steady work out routine for the past six or so years. I’m not bragging–these are just some accomplishments I’ve managed to keep up with. Waking up at six am every day? That one is a tad more difficult. What I’ve come to learn is that everything is hard at first, but it gets easier the longer you keep up with it. It’s also, obviously, more rewarding.

So, how do we find and maintain our motivation? First off, you’ve got to realise that you’re not going to be a pro right away. But, that’s okay. You’ve got time. As the cliche states, “Rome wasn’t built in a day!” It’s silly, but true. Another great cliche? “It’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon.” Take every day as a new day. Be present in that day, and if you’ve “failed” at whatever you wanted to do the previous day, know that with the new day comes a clean slate. So you didn’t work out yesterday when you wanted to? Fine. That was yesterday. Be present in today, and sally forth to the gym or take out your home equipment for a brief 30 minute work out.

Secondly, it might help to keep a small notebook on hand that you write your to-do list on every day. It’s cathartic and soul lifting to check off all of the errands you’ve put on the list day by day. It makes you feel like you’ve been successful with your day, and it assures that you’ve already dedicated some time to that workout or making that new recipe or what have you.

On that note, I think it’s also helpful to reflect and keep a journal (bullet or otherwise) that you write in before bed every night on what you’ve done in the day, and why you might need to work on for the next day. I have problems with this myself, and I want to get better at keeping up with my journal this year. Even if you just list out your day, or write what you’re grateful for, it’s going to put you in a great mindset for the next morning, and positive mindsets go a long way in motivating you.

It might help to start small at first. Don’t jump straight into working out every day if you’ve not worked out for a while. That’s a fantastic way to burn yourself out really quickly. Instead, start off with three or four days a week and then build into that. This applies with almost everything else. Introduce yourself to new things slowly, and there’s a higher likelihood that you’ll keep with it.

Challenge yourself each month with a new “30 Day To Do.” It’s a great way to learn how to hold yourself accountable, and strengthens your willpower towards keeping to the schedule of what you’ve laid out before you. Some of my favourite past “30 Day” challenges include going vegetarian, which I basically kept with (I do eat seafood, so I’m technically a pescetarian), flossing every night, and giving up sweets (which was hard, I’ll admit). And, right now, I’m doing the 30 Day Yoga Challenge with Adriene (which can be found on Youtube, if you’re interested!).

And, most importantly, listen to yourself. If you’re pushing yourself too hard, know when to slow things down. Be honest with yourself and what you can accomplish on a day to day basis. This isn’t to say don’t challenge yourself, but don’t ridicule yourself or put yourself down for not perfectly sticking with someone. None of us are perfect. The best you can do is try again, and start the next day with a positive attitude.

I wish you luck in all your endeavors for this year. You’re going to do brilliantly.

]]>https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/01/12/motivation-and-how-to-get-it/feed/0eaharring2016https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/01/05/2016/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/01/05/2016/#commentsTue, 05 Jan 2016 00:36:19 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=399]]>A new year. A new set of mistakes to make. Of books to read. Of trips onto my yoga mat to breathe deeply. Relax. Of papers to write and ink stained fingers to wash. Of anniversaries and celebrations and parties and Netflix. So much Netflix.

In 2016, I want to create. I want to get better about blogging on a more regular schedule. I want to do well in school, and learn so many new things. I want to finally, finally, start making the steps to re-learn French. I want to keep doing yoga and meditation at night, because it helps me sleep easier and relax before bed. I want to forgive myself for the things I’ve done in the past, and do better this year.

I want to be–in whatever way, shape, or emotion that might entail.

Cheers.

]]>https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2016/01/05/2016/feed/2eaharringthe world is stillness.https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2015/08/15/the-world-is-stillness/
https://eaharring.wordpress.com/2015/08/15/the-world-is-stillness/#respondSat, 15 Aug 2015 03:53:28 +0000http://eaharring.wordpress.com/?p=396]]>[I went to go see Damien Rice last night. It gave me many emotions. This is a product from waiting for the bus home.]

the world is stillness.
the weight of the black sky presses down
comfortably
but yearning for the light of the stars.
listening to the sound of wind between leaves
of cicadas singing their song
it feels like we can be anything.